Chapter 16 The Luxury of Patience
Kimblee leaned his weight against the laboratory's metal table and spoke with unsettling naturalness, as if he were not surrounded by death, secrets, and veiled threats.
"Then go look for the Philosopher's Stone," he said. "It's out there. Waiting."
Doctor Marco did not respond immediately. He walked slowly around the room, hands clasped behind his back, his face hardened by years of irreversible decisions. At last, he stopped in front of Kimblee and shook his head.
"No," he said. "We will not go after the Stone."
Kimblee tilted his head, intrigued.
"Oh? No?"
"I will," Marco continued. "But you are not out of this. On the contrary."
The air in the room grew heavy. The lights seemed to flicker, as if something invisible were feeding on them. Shadows in the corners began to move, stretching into unnatural shapes, and from them emerged two presences Kimblee recognized at once. He did not flinch. He smiled.
"Always so punctual," he murmured.
Pride manifested first, his form made of living darkness that seemed to watch Kimblee from every possible angle. Envy appeared beside him with an amused, almost expectant expression.
"It seems," Pride said, "that it's your turn to recover what you lost, Kimblee."
The shadows advanced a little more, hemming him in. They did not touch him, but the threat was absolute.
"If you don't retrieve the Stone," Envy added, "you'll die. It's that simple."
Kimblee let out a soft laugh.
"Always so clear," he replied. "I like that."
The restraints were removed without ceremony. Kimblee flexed his hands, feeling freedom return to his fingers, though he knew that freedom was nothing more than a longer leash. He stretched, rolled his neck, and—to everyone's surprise—spoke with complete seriousness:
"I need clothes."
Marco frowned.
"Clothes?"
"A white suit," Kimblee specified. "With class. And a glass."
An awkward silence followed. Even Envy seemed confused.
"You're unbearable," Envy muttered.
"And yet, here I am," Kimblee replied with a smile. "If I'm going to recover something so valuable, I'd rather do it with dignity."
Against all logic, they granted his request.
Hours later, Kimblee left the laboratory dressed in an immaculate white suit—tailored vest, perfectly pressed shirt—and a crystal glass in hand. He walked as if the world were a stage designed for him. Envy followed with arms crossed, watching him with clear disdain.
"You look like a guest at a wedding," Envy said. "Or a funeral."
"Both events tend to be memorable," Kimblee replied. "For different reasons."
Dawn found them in a quiet district, almost innocent. A small café was opening its doors as the city slowly woke. The aroma of warm bread contrasted brutally with the violence both of them embodied. Kimblee sat at an outdoor table and drank calmly, watching people pass by as if they were mere extras.
"There he is," Envy said quietly.
In the distance, the Silver Alchemist moved slowly, leaning on his cane. He carried a journal under his arm and wore the weary face of someone who had survived too long. He stopped at the café window, ordered a drink, and leafed through the newspaper, unaware of the eyes upon him.
"Do it quickly," Envy whispered. "We're not here to waste time."
Kimblee set the glass down carefully on the table and stood.
"Chaos is not always necessary for a mission," he said serenely. "You, of all people, should know that."
Envy clenched his teeth but said nothing.
Kimblee began to follow the old man at a distance, unhurried, his steps calm. There were no explosions. No fire. Only waiting. And in that calculated calm, Kimblee smiled, knowing that even silence, sooner or later, also ends up breaking.
(End of Chapter)